


baby, this don't even feel like falling

by john1513



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale-centric (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, I'm Sorry, Love songs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Slow Dancing, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, i am a slut for slow dancing okay, i have no betas i post like the reckless gay disaster i am, if i missed a tag lmk!, this was gonna be lighthearted and soft i don't know what happened, walking panic attack crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 15:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21460432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/john1513/pseuds/john1513
Summary: "Just a couple inches of distance between their faces, their bodies almost flush, hands touching, breath ghosting between them. Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t dreaming just now, having fallen asleep at the bookshop’s cash register and he’d wake up to a demon bursting into his shop with today’s tales of mischief and it would be just another of the miserable, long days where he had to hide his longing, his desire to be closer to Crowley, and he’d plaster on a thick smile that wasn’t entirely faked, because how could he ever be lonely when his demon was there with him? But then, he had been lonely, hadn’t he? Wanting something he couldn’t have, something he couldn’t even voice to his one best friend for fear of losing him, of breaking whatever they had built together over millennia. No, best keep your mouth shut. Best to have him here, not knowing, than to not have him at all."Aziraphale and Crowley slow dance in the bookshop to Ane Brun's 'Halo'. It's pining. It's sad. I'm sorry.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	baby, this don't even feel like falling

~~best to read this with this video playing in the background on repeat, trust me. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRHu7JaBLag ~~

“Hm, this a new one, angel?” Crowley asked idly. “If it’s another one of those weird, pop hits you’ve been getting into recently, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Now, dear, this is a good one, I promise. Although you might find it a bit sappy,” he replied with an indulgent smile on his face, already beginning to sway his body a bit. They had this new unspoken ritual between them in the months since The End that never came; suddenly records had begun appearing in the bookshop every time Crowley would come for drinks in the evenings, and after picnics or lunches or dinners at the Ritz, Aziraphale would find one less cassette tape in the Bentley, and one more in the crevices of his sofa. Eventually, (and Aziraphale won’t admit to being responsible for it while Crowley refuses to acknowledge its existence by asking how it came to be) the bookshop found itself in the possession of a record player to keep Aziraphale’s ancient gramophone some company, along with a boombox with a slot for cassettes, and most recently even a small, simple speaker system for playing music from a phone. 

_ “The technology the humans have come up with, it’s quite astounding isn’t Crowley?’ he had asked one night, already blurred a bit around the edges by the amount of wine coursing through his system. He loved nights like these; with every glass they drank together, he could see Crowley’s edges blurring just a bit too. Eventually, his glasses would come off and Aziraphale could look into the sunshine of his eyes, so soft. He’d never understood why Crowley insisted on wearing them, even when it was just the two of them. But he could guess why Crowley did it; one glance at those honey-tea eyes and not a soul could believe there was malice there. Only softness. Heartache. Tenderness. The poor boy would lose all his reputation with those.  _

_ Aziraphale often felt ashamed with Crowley; no longer a consequence of being judged or reprimanded by up above. These days it was shame at the selfishness he felt looking at his demon. He was his. No one had ever seen Crowley so unguarded. This was his alone. He felt ashamed that he wanted to possess so badly, to hold, to touch. To feel his warmth as Crowley talked and talked about some topic, distant now, and all the while his arms gesticulated wildly and his body naturally inched closer, and closer, and closer.  _

“Ugggh, c’mon angel, you know I hate the sappy ones,” Crowley replied with a dramatic flourish of his head that was followed by a big dip of his spine in a way that couldn’t quite be accomplished by anyone of human stock. His face said something along the lines of  _ ‘Oh, please, discorporate me now,’  _ but his body straightened once again and imperceptibly shifted towards Aziraphale’s. They were alone in the bookshop, all customers having been spooked away by the owner’s insistence that there were  _ no good books for sale today, my apologies, maybe check back next week or so _ , and by an intimidating figure, skinny and mysterious, lurking behind the bookshelves in the dark. And for some imperceptible reason, customers could swear they could hear a hiss, or sometimes a soft, threatening slither, just behind a particularly disheveled pile of books. Best to just head out and come back later, then.

Aziraphale loved this time of day. It was golden hour in early fall. The sunlight streamed in at a soft angle into the bookshop and lit up all his books and his desks and all the things he loved and bathed them in the softest amber warmth. He looked up from behind his eyelashes to look at that thing which he loved the most in his bookshop, bathed in that same warmth of the afternoon; Crowley seemed to have been looking at him with an equally soft expression on his face but glanced away quickly at Aziraphale’s look. The soft static of the song began to echo quietly through the cavernous bookcase and for a moment, Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to see him, to hold him.

“Dance with me, won’t you dear?” Aziraphale asked so quietly, it was almost a whisper. He extended his hand towards Crowley, and just a second later realized he had lost his grip on reality and had just asked to dance with him, the fool, Crowley doesn’t dance. Not with him. He retracted his hand quickly and had the dignity to look down with knitted brows and half-turned away.  _ Stupid, stupid. Don’t ruin it. Don’t touch. Don’t look. Don’t let him go. Won’t you stay? I’m sorry, that was stupid, I just--- _

He jumped at the tentative brush of a hand on his elbow, and nearly snapped his neck as he whipped it around, only to see Crowley’s face just inches from his. Oh, Lord. This alone, Crowley’s breath warm on his shoulder, electricity rushing from his elbow straight to his heart, this could discorporate him, here and now. 

Crowley, for all his bravado, wouldn’t quite look up at Aziraphale. It seems he, too, was having trouble keeping his face in an expression of indifference. Really, it looked strained, flushed. All the way down his neck and past his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt, Aziraphale noted distantly. Crowley made no eye contact and said nothing, but his left hand gently slid into Aziraphale’s right, slotting into place like perfect halves of a whole. His other hand floated over Aziraphale’s waist, taking the closeness he could get without pushing his luck. Aziraphale looked down at his hand, and pulled Crowley’s flush against his waist. Aziraphale looked up and suddenly couldn’t breathe; Crowley’s face was so close, so close he could literally feel every breath, every sigh, he could count every freckle, could watch the minute muscles in Crowley’s face shift under the strain of the tension it held there. Aziraphale took his hand back from his own waist and slowly reached up for Crowley’s face. He, too, floated his hand just above Crowley’s dark glasses, too afraid to speak and break the moment, but silently asking permission to remove that last barrier between them. The echo of a soft guitar rang through the bookshop, and an ethereal voice seemed to float and surge in the space between their bodies.

_ Remember those walls I built,  _

_ baby they were tumbling down; _

_ They didn’t even put up a fight, _

_ they didn’t even make up a sound… _

Crowley shifted his face imperceptibly until his glasses touched Aziraphale’s soft fingertips. He took this as permission, and slowly slid Crowley’s glasses away from his eyes. He’s not sure what he did with the glasses then, he might have dropped them where they stood. He couldn’t be bothered to look anywhere that wasn’t Crowley’s wide, soft eyes, looking at him with such warmth, his own personal bottled sunshine. Always present, always warm, always loving.

_ I found a way to let you in _

_ But I never really had a doubt, _

_ Standing in the light of your halo, _

_ I’ve got my angel now… _

Just a couple inches of distance between their faces, their bodies almost flush, hands touching, breath ghosting between them. Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t dreaming just now, having fallen asleep at the bookshop’s cash register and he’d wake up to a demon bursting into his shop with today’s tales of mischief and it would be just another of the miserable, long days where he had to hide his longing, his desire to be closer to Crowley, and he’d plaster on a thick smile that wasn’t entirely faked, because how could he ever be lonely when his demon was there with him? But then, he had been lonely, hadn’t he? Wanting something he couldn’t have, something he couldn’t even voice to his one best friend for fear of losing him, of breaking whatever they had built together over millennia.  _ No, best keep your mouth shut. Best to have him here, not knowing, than to not have him at all.  _

_ It’s like I’ve been awakened,  _

_ Every rule I had you breakin’, _

_ It’s the risk that I’m taking, _

_ I ain’t never gonna shut you out… _

Their bodies swayed so softly, it could barely be called dancing. It was just a soft, indulgent embrace, with a bit of sway. Eventually Crowley let his eyelids fall as if he’d been struggling to stay awake for centuries, and he let his forehead fall against Aziraphale’s. There was no more tension there in the muscles underneath his face. Aziraphale couldn't remember the last time he saw Crowley so relaxed, his jaw unclenched. The only movement in Crowley’s face was in his eyes; they were screwed shut, like he couldn’t bear to look at Aziraphale and make it real, solid. Or maybe he was working hard to commit every detail, every breath, to memory. Aziraphale could understand that desire, but he couldn’t understand why Crowley would be feeling that way, as he was. Was it possible that…?

This whole time? That it was--?  _ No, he’s indulging you, Aziraphale. He doesn’t feel that way for you, he couldn’t. And if he could, he wouldn’t. Not for you. Look at him, this is difficult for him. But he’d do anything for you, because you’re friends. Don’t push too hard. You’ll break something. You always break something. _

_ Everywhere I’m lookin’ now, _

_ I’m surrounded by your embrace, _

_ Baby I can see your halo, _

_ You know you’re my saving grace... _

Aziraphale’s body tensed just a shade at this train of thought, and he felt a surge of pain that started deep in his heart and spread to his fingers and his toes. This heartbreak, this longing, he’d grown used to it. He let it course through his veins, and he, too, screwed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to spill at the sudden overwhelming emotions. It was Crowley’s fault, he was too close. This always happened when Crowley was too close; he lost control. He let himself believe that he could have this, that this could really be. And he was always wrong. Things would be back to normal tomorrow. His best course of action was to indulge now, quietly, and then tonight he could let the feelings take him over and he could cry in peace, and tomorrow it would be like nothing had happened, and they could go on being friends. That’s just the way these things had to be. The way they had always been.

_ You’re everything I need and more, _

_ It’s written all over your face, _

_ Baby I can feel your halo, _

_ Pray you won’t fade away... _

His body filled with resignation, and love. So much love. He pressed his body closer to Crowley’s, and he squeezed his hands tighter in his, and he screwed his eyes shut even tighter, and his heart clenched something terrible. 

_ Song’s almost over. Just take what he’s given you. Don’t think too much. Don’t be obvious. Don’t let it show. Just take this and go. _

_ It’s just a dance. _

_ He’s just your friend. _

_ He doesn’t love you. _ _   
_ _ He doesn’t love you. _

_ He doesn’t love you. _

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! this is my first fic...ever.. and i'm a bit nervous about it lol. i hope you enjoyed it, and i'm sorry it's so angsty. depending on the responses I might continue it but we'll see. also, the song is so lovely and full credit to the singer and to the person who created that video of the lovely edit of the song. it was so beautiful and inspiring and the main reason i wrote this to begin with. i recommend listening to their other videos, but also i just discovered a whole side of youtube of 'songs played from another room' or 'xx song but you're making out in the bathroom' or something and it's GLORIOUS please check it out. anyway find me on tumblr at alwayscomewhenyoucall if you'd like to chat!  
thank you love y'all!!!


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